


A Queen is Still a Queen, even as a Puppet

by localtiredace



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dark, Dunno what else to say?, Gen, Something I wrote on my roleplay blog and decided to post here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9089692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localtiredace/pseuds/localtiredace
Summary: She's slipping, and she knows it. The game left scars, scars and cracks, ones that deepen and widen with every thought that drives its sharpened self into her body and mind.





	1. Sometimes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attacks, they were too much. Too strong. But she would not cave. She had no one but herself to depend in, and for herself, she would try to be strong.

She was curled up in the darkened corner, hidden from the world. Most nights, she dreamed and woke up screaming, but her terrors were confined to the darkest hours, left to deal with in the dead of night. But sometimes, _sometimes_ , memories crashed into her and left her sobbing and shaking, trembling from their weight. Legs tucked tight to her chest, arms curled over her head, chest heaving as she sucked in air, only to expel it all in the next breath in a body-wrenching sob, it always left her in the same state. Weak, scared and alone. The dizzying swirl of colors and sights, cacophony of voices, medley of pain and sensation, all crashing into her and breaking over her in a flood of memories.

It always started in the same way, a small ache in her sternum that gradually grew, making it harder and harder to breathe. She saw the vines, or tentacles, or rivers of blood floating in mid-air, flashes of red from the corners of her vision. Until the pain peaked, and she was left gasping for air that wouldn’t come, as warmth trickled down her stomach, pooling at her feet as her life drained from around the crimson spike that had driven itself into her chest. Her vision darkened as the pain increased.

Eventually she would wake up, and scramble for her corner, knowing she’d have minutes before the next part began. This one was always the hardest. Tucking herself into her corner, a habit left over from when the drones would sweep through, the walls pressing against her and hiding her from their scans. The first voice to spill from the cacophony in her head, to rise above and tear at her, cut deeply. “ _I liked you better when you were drunk!_ ” The biggest advocate for her sobriety told her, to her face, in such a harsh manner, that she preferred the happy mask made of alcohol than the broken, ugly truth of a desperate lonely little girl behind it. Next came the jolly, condescending, clueless, British-tinged voice of the one who helped in breaking her heart, as he chattered on about her love, and how great he was, and how he was so happy, oblivious to her tears, to her heartbreak, to how he was shattering her, leaving room for the numbness of her aspect to take over. Next, her mother. A cultured, smooth voice, posh in ways she’d never learn, and educated in ways she’d never had access too. Telling her she was a mistake, worth nothing, that all the alcohol was in hopes she’d binge herself to death, poison her body to the point of failure, and die in pain, alone and cold and lonely, just like her life. But the last voice, his always cut the deepest, and in ways he knew to hurt. “ _What do you want, Lalonde, I’m busy._ ” _**I want your approval, your affection, your attention…**_ “ _Not now, Jake and I were talking._ ” _**Is he more important than me…?**_ “ _Just go back to your booze, Lalonde, the adults are talking now._ ” _**I… Do I really matter so little…?**_ “ _Leave me alone, Lalonde. I don’t want to deal with your drunken bullshit right now._ ” The silent, untyped ’ _or ever_ ’ always echoed loudly in her head. _**I guess I do… if you can’t spare a minute for me… am I really even your best friend…? Or have I already been replaced while at the bottom of a bottle…?**_ His voice always worsened her weakness, her sobs, adding a layer of disgust, as she knew he’d never love someone so easily broken, much less look at her, when specimens like Jane existed, if he even swung her way. But of course he didn’t. Just another reason to give it all up and slip away.

The last part was almost blessed in the numbness that crept in through the cracks, if not for the eldritch whispers that accompanied it. Always, promises of _power_ and respect, of **love** and adoration, of no longer being alone, or the one left out, no more feeling cold and forgotten, unloved and left for dead. Each time an episode struck, it left her weaker, more susceptible to the honeyed promises, the silken-cloaked words of darkness, the empty whispers of power and glory. They wanted a puppet regime, and who better to be the hollow figure-head, than the hollowed-out girl? 

But she always pulled together enough shredded strength to stutter out two letters, telling them she was still hers at the end of this fight. But each attack took its price, leaving pale skin and dark bruises, under eyes and on arms, from sleeplessness and fingers gripping desperately tight, clinging to the pain as a link to reality. Giving her a tenuous path back to the real world, allowing her to once more slip behind that mask of make up and a fragile smile, to use empty words to deflect worry. Just until it started again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend of mine on tumblr had been pushing me to write a grimdark-esque arc for Roxy, and this was my response. I mixed a bit of my own negative feelings at times into this, so its a bit personal, while still trying to stay true to Roxy herself.
> 
> My tumblr(s), if you wanna check em out: [My main one, same as this username](https://agirlwithtoomanyfandoms.tumblr.com) and, the home of the original of this work, [my Roxy roleplay one](https://drunkxnectobiology.tumblr.com). Check me out, gimme a follow if you want.


	2. Waning Strength

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's giving in. The cracks are too large, the cold too numbig, the whispers too insistent. It is time to take her crown.

It came in the aftermath of her latest episode, an errant thought after she’d fought off memories and monsters alike. _**Why don’t I give in?**_ The abruptness shook her, before her subconscious took a moment to explain. _**Why don’t I give in? Clearly, no one cares. I could slip away, accept those promises and become their puppet, and no one would bother checking. Perhaps they can seal the cracks that widen with every attack… I won’t be able to last another… The numbness is growing to be too much, so… Why don’t I just give in and accept it already?**_ She could see the logic, and as acceptance stole through her body, so did the pervading cold and numbing bliss her aspect brought with it, winding itself through the cracks in her armor that had breached wider with every fight and episode, settling deep inside her for when she finally breathed her acquiescence and took her place as Queen of the Void, a puppet role, but still a Queen nonetheless.


End file.
